


click, boom.

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fluffy Ending, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, despite the fic title no murder occurs, i am in pain over royal and i must scream about it immediately, lots of regret, not betad WHATSOEVER, the wondrous stunning fucking scene that is 2/2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23398261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When he lay there dying in the engine room, the last face he saw was Akira’s.He thought it was finally over. He thought he could finally rest.(The best way to exorcise a ghost is to give it closure.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 136





	click, boom.

When he lay there dying in the engine room, the last face he saw was Akira’s. 

He thought it was finally over. He thought he could finally rest. 

Akechi’s life seems to begin and end with Akira now, as it so often did. He feels stuck with him, in a way. The universe likes it when they oppose each other; so far from one another yet just a coin-flip away, one’s disorder bordered only by the other’s peace. The man was his self-proclaimed judge, jury, and executioner— part of him knew it before they even faced Maruki. 

He blames Akira for raising him from the dead, despite knowing it isn’t his fault. 

He’ll admit that he feels… drawn to him, just the same. You see, he’d worked so hard to be seen by Akira back then, to be recognized by someone he deemed so remarkable— but it isn’t that simple. It didn’t take a detective to know that there’s something so, so apprehensively wrong with this world. 

Akira better not expect him to be flattered. 

Shido, Yaldabaoth, Maruki— another name for another manipulator. Out of all the pawns they could have chosen, it ended up being him and Akira time and time again. When it comes to life and death, good and evil, Akechi doesn’t really know where he stands anymore. It’s not like it would make much of a difference, in the grand scheme of things. 

He used to have such strong convictions. 

Wherever his place is, though, he knows Akira will be glaring at him from the opposite side. He’s always there, perpetually judging everyone as if his own moral compass was flawless. Akechi used to regard that self-righteousness only with contempt, but now it… might even provide him with a sense of balance. No matter how infuriating it is. Akira’s determination was always so insufferable. 

Maybe he’s projecting. 

Akechi despised everything the Phantom Thieves represented. Not necessarily because he disagreed with them, he admits—most of it was, indeed, out of pure spite. Envy of Joker and his accomplishments. He had his share of moral objections with the Phantom Thieves as a whole, that’s true. Then again, he was a hitman— one that was even delusional enough to think his methods to be a just form of revenge. Like he’s one to talk. 

He had dreamed of being a hero once. A savior for the ones in need, a bringer of justice for those who stepped out of line. He had been born into hell, dug his way straight out of it with his own two hands, became notorious, became a celebrity. 

Became a caricature of everything he stood for. 

Akechi had killed Akira. Pointed a gun to his head and fired, not a second of hesitation. Akechi had also died protecting him. Two sides, same coin, once again, ad _fucking_ nauseam. It’s the least he could do. 

He realized how much of a fool he was. He thought he could _finally_ rest. 

All of his fury simmered into a pool of blood on the engine room floor, and he fell asleep. He doesn’t remember much after that, because there’s nothing to remember.  
When everything clicked back into place again, the first face he saw was Akira’s. His own legs brought him to the man almost by instinct, reaching out to the one he called both his enemy and his partner. A memory was all that led him, or more like a lack of it—an almost physically tangible black hole, front and center in his head. Moving felt different, remembering gave him a headache, his very breathing felt wrong on so many levels. He understood then, physically awake but with a heart so utterly dim, that his spirit would never truly feel “rest”. He’d done enough damage to warrant this unease for eternity. 

He thought he was going mad. 

Akira’s voice sounded so, so wrong. Everyday life went on despite his paranoia, sinking further into an uncanny valley. 

Had his hair always been this color? 

The urge to avoid all contact lest he actually go insane came the moment he realized he was right. Still, something forced him to visit Leblanc on the second of February. Something maddening and impatient, needing to make sure this ordeal ends, needing to make sure Akira doesn’t fall pray to this sugarcoated, fake sense of security. 

He stays long after Maruki is gone. They have a lot to talk about. 

Akira expresses his regrets over Goro’s death, over the fight in the engine room. As if Goro isn’t the one who attacked them, aimed for Akira specifically with the intent to kill. He doesn’t stay on that topic too long though, fumbling for something else to replace it with. Akira sounds solemn. 

So, that’s why he’s alive right now. 

Goro only feels cold. An educated guess of his stands somewhat confirmed, after this final piece of evidence. For once, he isn’t happy to be right. He doesn’t say anything, instead deciding only to listen. He listens and listens and listens. 

… 

That is, until Akira says something he shouldn’t. 

"You really are... something else." There's a laugh, weak and half-hearted. Akechi won't look him in the eyes, the coward. "I don't know what else I expected from you."  
Akira holds his breath a few beats longer, but the detective doesn’t say another word. He denies Akira any further response, shuts the whole idea down like it’s nothing short of childish nonsense. Akira’s chest somehow feels even tighter. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his apron like a child, so utterly bashful it’s ridiculous. The sudden rise of tension in the room threatens to give him whiplash, so Akechi promptly replaces it with hostility. 

In comparison to the raw honesty of his words, Akechi's own leave a bitter and metallic taste in the air. A knife to Akira’s throat, smug and mocking, as if he hadn't thrown him off balance at all-- as if Akira throwing him off-balance is unheard of. He hates not being one step ahead. He’s used to having leverage, so he pretends not to be thrown off even when he is—fakes it until somebody calls his bluff. Akira is good at that. Akira is also very good at ticking him off. 

He can’t hide in front of Akira. He hates that. 

In all honesty, he’s flabbergasted. 

This boy, this so fascinatingly incomprehensible boy-- former Phantom Thief and currently _smitten_ teenager with a heart that's threatening to jump out of his ribcage... he can read Akechi much better than Akechi wants him to. The detective never dared to underestimate him. That's why, even in moments like this, he can’t help but feel as if Akira has the upper hand. Like he’s playing cards against a child and refusing to let it win. 

Fair enough. 

The former detective has done essentially everything in his power to drive Akira away—and what he got instead was a goddamn love confession. It’s impossible for Akechi to wrap his head around. He shakes his head, laughs a solemn laugh. 

After everything, Akira had wanted to know him. Akira had gotten closer to him than anyone before, seen him at his absolute worse, and still fulfilled his promise.  
Akechi asks him to explain himself, and Akira tells him the story so far. 

_They were seventeen and it was sometime in September when they met; a very annoying, very nervous boy started following Akira to the metro station. He'd seen that boy before, on television and in news articles. Always smiling, always nice, always unbearable._

_The first time that annoying, nervous boy came to visit Leblanc, Akira had wanted to punch him. In his defense, it was born from an impulse to defend both Futaba and Sojiro-- looking back, he never would have actually done it. Not unless he absolutely had to._

_By the tenth, Akira wanted to kiss him. They’d stayed across from each other in an isolated booth at Leblanc long after it closed, tilted forwards in their seats until their faces were nearly touching. They spoke about life and death, good and evil, the Phantom Thieves-- for what seemed to be the fourteenth time in a row. Funny thought, maybe they wouldn't have caught onto Akechi's plan if he had managed to stop talking about it for five minutes. It’s way too late to think about that now, though._

To say that their relationship is complicated would be a gross understatement. To say that dealing with it now of all times is a bad idea would also be a gross understatement. 

This fake reality isn’t an opportunity to fix things. Yet Akechi can understand how tempting it can be, the opportunity to vent, to confess everything he ever wanted to say to a face that’s actually alive, actually responsive—it makes Akira spew out words upon words like a broken faucet. The poor boy can’t control himself. 

Akechi almost feels sorry for him. He’ll get him to stop speaking nonsense soon enough. 

He has Maruki to thank for putting the idea in Akira’s head. He brought a dead boy back to life and swung him above his head like a reward, like an axe. The one boy they couldn’t save, the one he wanted to say anything and everything to, the one he so desperately wanted a second chance with. Akechi himself had stayed up night after night back then, wondering what would have happened if their fates were different. If Akira had agreed to join Goro, indulge the monster he’s become. If they hadn’t been pitted against each other from the fucking start, if they had only... 

If they had only met earlier. 

Their relationship feels borderline prophetic at times. 

In a life ever-changing, Akira was always a constant-- which isn’t necessarily a good thing. His own existence is a slap to the face, a crude caricature of the true justice Akechi and the entire police force were supposed to stand for. He shows off Goro’s flaws in a way nothing else ever could. Even as an everyday high school student and not the starry-eyed Joker pillaging the Metaverse, he was so stunningly driven, so formidable, so… _kind._ Akira was always a little too close to Akechi, a little too friendly. 

And Akechi had put a bullet through his head. He’d call Akira an idiot, but he’s afraid the issue goes much deeper than that. 

Akira had tried to kill a god at the ripe age of seventeen, and actually succeeded. He managed to save the world. According to Maruki, somewhere along the way, Akira also convinced himself that he was responsible for Goro’s death. It seems absurd, really— even someone so intelligent could let his delusional conscience get the best of him.  
Akira blames himself. Somewhere in his ribcage, Goro’s cold, dead heart actually starts to _hurt._

Being sure of something, at this point, is a luxury neither of them can afford. Back then, when he had an act to uphold and a vendetta to pursue, making decisions came so easily. He misses that part, at least. 

Right now, Akechi really doesn’t know what to say. 

Akira has dug his own grave with an unchecked savior complex. He’s convinced himself, somewhere in all of his grief, that he had fallen in love. He's so sure of it that he says it again. 

"I'm in love with you." 

Goro winces. 

"...In love with me. No, not exactly," Goro sighs as if he's explaining basic maths to a two-year-old. "I think you just have a deathwish." He runs a hand through his hair, slouching back in his seat just enough to make some distance between the two of them. 

For every step back, Akira takes two steps forward. It feels like a dance. "What makes you think that?" 

"Because you're always like this. You just _love_ to help the helpless," It's said both with bitterness and a touch of fondness, a familiarity that brings the smallest smile to Akira’s face. Goro wants to slap it off. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t think you’re helpless. Don’t put words into my mouth.” Akira scoffs. He looks distant now, fingers tapping nervously against the wooden table.

He’s… he’s been through a lot, hasn’t he?

“Say, Akira. Why am I here?” He’s leaned over the table, hands flat on its surface. The way a CEO would stand during a particularly important business meeting.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think Maruki chose to bring me back, of all people? You told him something, that much is a given.” The initial enthusiasm dulls down. Goro’s face is still serious, with a newfound solemnness to it. “Tell me that this isn’t what you wanted.”

He feels bad for asking. He isn’t doubting Akira’s intentions so much as he’s coaxing him to say it out loud. The whole conversation seems to be torturing Akira, from the sore subjects to the inherent embarrassment after a love confession, but Akechi has no intention of stopping until he talks some sense into him.

“Of course not. You’re not the only one that sees something wrong with this, you know?” He seems to have struck a nerve with Akira. _Good._

Of course Akira doesn’t want to stay here, none of them do. Nobody who cares so much about justice, his friends, and everything in between would ever want to stay here. The sky is bright and dizzying, the people are saccharine and robotic, he gets a headache just from thinking about it.

They sit in silence for a while. Akira looks through the window, the spitting image of a child that just got chewed out. The weight of the conversation still hangs in the air, heavy as lead.

For once, Akechi tries his best to not sound harsh.

“Then why are you telling me this now? What difference does it make?”

“This.”

To his surprise, Akira gets up from his seat. Before he can ask, Akechi’s met with a pair of lips pressed up to his own.

The kiss is chaste but long-- they linger less than an inch from each other, stay there for a while only to breathe. Akechi feels like he’s been shot through the heart.

The urge to jump out of his own skin mixes with a slower, more daunting realization—and he’s speechless. Akira smiles into another kiss—he’s leaning down, looming above Goro in what’s probably the most uncomfortable position ever, that _idiot._

“This is a bad idea.” Comes a barely audible whisper, one that Goro’s short-circuited brain barely recognizes as his own. It’s more observation than protest.

“I know.” He feels Akira laugh, reverberating deep in his bones.

He should’ve known that ghosts can’t be put to rest without closure.

**Author's Note:**

> scream at me @noveaucain on twit


End file.
